Gus Goes to Jail
by ReluctantSlashFan
Summary: Gus is accused of murder and Shawn will stop at nothing to get him off. But when the evidence starts piling up against him it might take more than Shawn's 'psychic' powers to help Gus.
1. Chapter 1

**This story is based on a quote of Gus's in **_**Disco Didn't Die. It was Murdered.**_** I thought it would be a good idea and I really hope you like this. So, please tell me what you think, I own nothing remotely recognizable, and catch you in chapter two…**

**_Psych_  
**

**1984…**

"You're not playing right," Shawn snapped stalking over to his friend who had moved several feet away from the tree, or what he designated as the 'jail cell.'

"I told you, Shawn, I don't want to play," Gus replied sounding slightly irritated that he had to remind his friend yet again.

"It's cops and robbers, Gus. I can't play by myself." Shawn tried to reason with his friend for what felt like the billionth time.

"I know, you remind me every time we play. And every time you always make me the criminal. I'm sick of being the criminal. Why can't I be the cop?"

"Because my per… percept… I have better paying attention skills than you do."

"It's perceptiveness," Gus shot back.

"How do you even know that?"

"My parents got me a dictionary for Christmas," Gus replied proudly.

"That's it, three more years in jail for being a know-it-all."

"Now you're cheating," Gus argued.

"Arguing with the police officer, ten more years."

"Shawn…"

"Using the police officer's first name eighty more years."

"You are ridiculous," Gus grumbled and stalked toward the gate.

"Gus, you can't walk out of jail," Shawn called back.

"Watch me," Gus retorted and slammed the gate behind him. "Besides, I don't ever plan to go to jail, Shawn."

"Criminals," Shawn grumbled with a shake of his head, watching his friend disappear around the corner…

_**Psych**_

**Present Day…**

It took a moment for Gus's eyes to adjust to the light coming from the window. He couldn't quite remember where he was, the night before a blur of shapes, sounds, and colors. He tried shaking his head to clear it, but a spike of pain shot through it and he cried out. He made to rub his forehead but froze when he noticed his hands were covered in something vaguely familiar.

He let loose a shout of surprise, springing to his feet. Another jolt of pain erupted through his skull, strong enough that he had to grab a nearby dresser to keep himself up. His eyes raked across the bed he had just left, the sight making his stomach churn. Lying across the mattress, her glassy, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling but not really seeing it, was a woman he recognized as his neighbor: Regina Taylor. He looked down at himself, blood drenching his clothes, and he felt the last of his restraint give way as he collapsed to the ground.

The next thing he was aware of was someone shaking him, spikes of pain going through his head every time he was jolted. He opened his eyes, landing on the partially concerned face of Carlton Lassiter and the worried face of Juliet O'Hara.

"Guster," Lassiter's voice said, shaking him one last time.

"Stop," he snapped feeling like he was going to puke.

"Gus, what happened?" Juliet asked when she and Lassiter backed up.

"I…I don't… Regina, R…Regina's dead," Gus stammered scrambling up. He didn't want to see her, but his eyes automatically locked on her bed. Three men were blocking her, all three wearing jackets with the word **coroner **written across the back in yellow lettering.

"Come on, Gus," Juliet said trying to take his arm. Before she could help him up, a small, squirrely rookie ran into the room and stopped short of Lassiter's side.

"Um… Detective Lassiter, sir," the rookie said in a breathless voice.

"What," Lassiter replied pushing himself to his feet. The rookie didn't get the words out, a gruff voice interrupting him, "Step away from my suspect, Detective O'Hara."

"Suspect," Juliet sputtered getting to her feet. "What suspect?"

"Well, let's see," the gruff voice continued, the owner walking into the room and scanning it. He was tall, six-six at the most, and wore a pair of jeans and tee-shirt as if he were called out of bed. He had dark blond hair, piercing green eyes, and a frown plastered across his pale face, "Mr. Guster is in the victim's room, most definitely covered in her blood. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together, O'Hara. Now, step away from my suspect."

"But…" Juliet tried to protest.

"Steinberg, I think you need to rethink this" Lassiter started getting Gus's attention. If Lassiter was defending him it must look really bad he figured.

"Lassiter, as head of homicide I have the right to arrest any suspect I see fit. So, step away from my suspect," Steinberg said the last few words in a slow, growl stepping towering over Lassiter as he stepped toward him.

"I still think you're making a mistake," Lassiter said but stepped back. Juliet glared at Steinberg, stepping in front of Gus. The sales rep watched as Lassiter grabbed her sleeve and pulled her away.

"Burton Guster," Steinberg started pulling his handcuffs from his belt, "you have the right to remain silent…"


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is back story. It's everything that happened up to Gus waking up in Regina's room. So, I hope you guys/gals enjoy it.**

**Danny's return will be explored in the next chapter, along with why Lassiter is no longer on suspension. Just endure this chapter and all will be answered.**

**Thanks for reading, I really hope to hear from you again, and sorry for the lateness of this chapter.**

**I own nothing.**

**Bye…**

_**Psych**_

**22 hours earlier…**

Regina Taylor stood in his doorway, her hand tightening on her dog's leash. It was rare that she'd stop by Gus's apartment. He normally stopped by hers, offering his services just so he could be near her. It's not that she was the hottest woman in the building-_uh, that would be Ms. 4B_-but she was by far the most interesting. It's not that she wasn't attractive either: long, dark red hair, bright green eyes, porcelain skin, and a pre-med student who was going to school so late because she had to take care of her brother until he turned eighteen. There was nothing Gus didn't like about her; except her dog, Sasquatch. That thing was always sniffing him in places that were not only inappropriate but also down right uncomfortable.

"Hey," Gus said attempting to lean against the door. The stupid thing picked the worst moment to move under his weight. It took grabbing the doorframe to keep him standing. Straightening, hoping she didn't see him do that, he asked, "What's up?"

"Um, are you busy tonight?" she asked, trying to hold back a smile. _Of course she saw me, _he thought bitterly as he watched Regina yank Sasquatch away from Mr. 3F's doorstep.

"Busy? Me? Why?" Gus questioned unconsciously flicking his nose with his thumb.

"I just… Do you need a tissue?" Regina gave him a curious look, reaching for the messenger bag around her shoulders.

"What? No, I don't… Why do you ask?"

"You were flicking your nose like there was something…" her face flushed, her green eyes averting from his dark ones. "Anyway," Regina started clearing her throat, "I have this thing tonight. It's O'Malley's tenth reunion." O'Malley's was the dingiest bar in Santa Barbara, full of people that Gus would rather not fraternize with, and was also where Regina worked to help pay her way through med school. He had no idea why she was even bringing the place up, let alone its ten year marker.

"Congrats, I guess," Gus said not really sure what to say about a bar being open for a decade. '_Happy birthday you health code violation'_ sounded a tad too rash.

"Yeah, and I was wondering if you wanted to go to the party with me. It's just going to be me and a few guys who work there. Also Arlene O'Malley and her husband, Garrett. You can ask that psychic guy you work with, uh Shane, to come too. He could bring Jenna."

As smart as she was, Regina Taylor forgot names on a daily basis. It took her almost two weeks to remember Gus's name. She had told him once that, '_I remember faces quicker than I remember names. It's how I've always been_.' She had met Shawn and Juliet once, the day she moved in, but hadn't had much chance to get to know them. Gus was sure after a few more meetings, she'd at least remember one of their names.

"Where is this party?" Gus asked curiously, not sure if he wanted to go or not. As much as he liked her, he wasn't sure he wanted to spend any time in that rat infested, flea pit she called a job.

"It's at O'Malley's of course."

_Of course it is_, Gus thought as he said, "Oh, um…"

"Please Gus; it'll be a huge favor. And I'll owe you in the future."

How could he say no to her, so he agreed, telling her he'd pick her up at eight. She thanked him and headed toward her apartment. He waved at her, watching as she waved back and closed the door. He closed his own door seconds later, resting his forehead against the cool wood. The plus side to his situation, the only good thing, was he had a date with Regina Taylor. Too bad it was in a bar where half the customers have, no doubt, contemplated robbing the joint.

His phone made him jump, the cordless echoing down the hall from the kitchen. Gus pushed himself away from the door and headed down the hall. He scooped his phone off the counter, checked the id, and answered with a, "No, Shawn, I will not wear a tuxedo made of grass to your wedding."

"That wasn't why I was calling, and come on. It would be so cool. I mean, yeah we'd have to water the thing before we…"

"No Shawn. Besides, I doubt Jules will agree to it."

"You are not wrong. She just won't budge on her original wedding plans that she told me THREE years ago. She wants it on the beach, in the middle of spring, with several dozen lilies…"

"…surrounding you. Yeah, you've told me several times."

"Anyway, I didn't call to discuss anything remotely matrimonial. I called because Vick has a case for us. It's nothing big, but it'll get Jules off my back for a couple days about all this wedding stuff."

"What does 'nothing big' mean, exactly? Because the last time you said 'nothing big' we ended up trapped in a zoo with gun toting animal poachers."

"And I apologized for that. As for the case, it's just a standard missing person. Some girl's sister went missing a few days ago. She's afraid she's been kidnapped by her ex or something."

"And Lassiter and Juliet aren't involved why?"

"Lassie is supposed to be on vacation and Jules has a few other cases she's working on. We will be teaming up with McNab. He was actually really excited to be working with us."

"Yeah, because you're like his hero… Wait, Lassiter is on vacation?"

"Supposed to be, Gus. He's been lurking around the station, anyway."

"Why's he supposed to be on vacation?"

"Apparently, he shot the voice box at a McDonald's because the teenager working the drive-thru-get this-talked to him in a 'threatening manner.' I guess surly is threatening to good old Lassie now.

"Anyway, the case."

"Yeah, Shawn, as much as I would love to work a missing person, I just can't. I have to start my route…" a knock at the door cut Gus off. Eyebrows raised, he headed toward the door. "You aren't at my door, are you?" he opened the door to reveal his best friend.

"No, Gus, don't be ridiculous," Shawn lied horribly, hanging his phone up and stashing it in his pocket.

"How long have you been here?" Gus asked hitting end on his cordless and sitting it on the small table he kept by the door.

"Long enough to hear Regina Taylor ask you out," Shawn said pushing past his friend. He headed toward Gus's kitchen, calling, "Dude, I will totally go with you," over his shoulder.

Gus closed his door, hurrying to follow his friend. He would never admit it to Shawn, but he would be forever grateful that his best friend agreed to go with him. Especially to a place that doesn't even sell pineapple or tetanus shots. Yes, Shawn Spencer was a very good friend.

"I'm drinking your last soda. Hope you don't mind." Gus heard his fridge open, the sound of a can opening followed. _And sometimes he was just a pain in the ass_.

_**Psych**_

Carlton Lassiter couldn't believe he was being escorted off the premises, by Buzz McNab no less. He was just paying a visit; there was no need to treat him like a criminal. Yes, lurking around O'Hara's desk trying to catch a glimpse of any stray case file wasn't very visitor-like of him. And yes, yelling at a rookie for asking if he was supposed to be there was a tad uncalled for. But it didn't warrant him being kicked out of the police station. By Buzz McNab no less.

"I'm so sorry about this, Detective Lassiter," McNab said in his happy, go lucky tone as he walked Lassiter to his car. "It's just Chief Vick told me to escort you outside. And I didn't want to make her angry." Lassiter grunted in response, stopping next to his Crown Vick.

"It's just a few more days," McNab reminded him.

"Leave," Lassiter said quietly.

"Yes, sir," Buzz said and scurried toward the station. Carlton was a little satisfied that McNab was still a little afraid of him despite working together for five years. The smile soon wilted from his face when he realized he still had three days of doing absolutely nothing. _How the hell do you do absolutely nothing_, he thought to himself bitterly.

The drive back to his place was mostly quiet, a jockey, from a local AM station, filling the car with quiet background noise. It was dangerous for Carlton to be in silence, his mind wandered when it was silent. He started thinking about what landed him on suspension-or forced vacation time as he liked to call it. He had told Vick it was because of a bad week, the reason why he decided to end the existence of a McDonald's voice box. The truth was he caught a glimpse of his ex-wife in a gas station that morning: His ex-wife, her new husband, and their new baby.

To say he wasn't jealous would have been lying. He was damn jealous. That should have been his life, his kid. Instead he was destined to watch it all from afar, wondering what he could have done to fix it, and uselessly wishing things could be different. In retrospect, he didn't even know why he was still pining for Victoria. They'd been divorced for over two years now: Seven-hundred-thirty plus days. And they'd been separated longer. They were their own people now. He should just get over her and the whole damn situation.

Now, he felt a little depressed, thinking like that. She was, in a way, the first woman he ever really loved. He had girlfriends before her, a long line of nut bags who he wished he could forget, but she was the only one he could ever see himself with. Truth was he probably would never really get over her. Not really.

When he pulled up to his house, wondering how much trouble he'd get into if he threw a rock at his neighbor's dog, he wasn't feeling remotely better. In fact, he was feeling worse than before. Sighing, pushing everything remotely Victoria related aside, he opened his car door.

Figuring he could probably get a few hours in at the shooting range, and maybe knock back a few scotches afterward, he headed toward his front door. Maybe a shower before he left would do him good; except, there was someone sitting on his porch steps blocking his way inside.

The guy was in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, black hair with flecks of gray in it. His blue eyes lit up with a smile when he spotted Carlton. His face had a faint tan, but it still couldn't hide the spatter of freckles all over his face. He had a dark blue back pack at his feet, a black messenger bag at his side. He was wearing a black, leather biker jacket, but didn't have a bike, and blue jeans. A pair of sunglasses sat on his head. All these things wouldn't have mattered to Lassiter if they were on anyone else, criminal aside, but they were on someone he had known for a good chunk of his life. In fact, he had known the guy his whole life.

"Danny?" he whispered freezing in his tracks.

"Carlton, it's really good to see you," his brother said his smile growing wider. It seems their mother was right, Danny was going to stop by sometime soon. It was just a few months too late…

_**PSYCH**_

Gus never made into work that day. He was pretty sure Oogletree was going to rip him a new one when he saw him, but Shawn had already called Central Coast and told the receptionist Gus had to deal with a family thing. Apparently his brother, yeah Gus didn't have a brother, Elliot lost control of his motorize scooter and crashed it into a tree. He had broken his foot, his arm, six ribs, and gotten a concussion. _"It was horrible, Gus. Elliot just needed his brother Gus to be there. Would you leave him while he was down," _Shawn had said as he drove Gus to the police station.

They spent all day with McNab, or Gus had. Shawn pretty much wandered over to Juliet's desk and only stopped flirting with her when Gus threw him a withering look and told him to do his 'psychic' thing. Even when Shawn was paying attention, they still hadn't found Gigi Gray. Nor had they gotten any leads as to where she might be. McNab had let them talk to her ex, but he had supplied an air tight alibi. There went Gigi's sister's theory that she was kidnapped by the boyfriend. They were back to square one.

"I still think she took off," Shawn said from the back seat of Gus's Echo. Gus had pulled up to O'Malley's, spotting Regina standing outside waiting for him.

"Shawn, why would she take off without any word?" Juliet asked turning to look at him.

"Maybe she did leave word, and her sister misplaced it," Shawn replied smoothly.

"Or she was taken by someone else," Gus pointed out turning his car off.

"Whatever the case," Juliet started opening her car door, "if we don't find her soon we might never find her. It's sad to say, but after forty-eight hours most cases grow cold."

"Then we'll just have to find her by tomorrow," Shawn responded following Juliet out of the car. Gus sighed, wondering what the odds were of actually finding one missing person in twenty-four… well not even twenty-four anymore…hours. It wasn't very likely.

He took his keys from the ignition, made sure all his windows were rolled up, and opened his car door. He made sure the Echo was locked up tight before he jogged around the blue car and over to Regina. She smiled when she spotted him, her green eyes practically sparkling with the action. Her red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a barrette holding it in place.

"I'm glad you came," she said taking his arm. "You're friends are already inside."

"Okay," Gus said returning her smile. He allowed her to pull him inside the bar, almost forgetting his dislike for the place… almost.

He mostly stuck to the table the whole night, watching everyone from a far. Shawn and Juliet danced a little to the music playing from the jukebox, enjoyed themselves as much as they could with Gina Gray's disappearance on their minds. Regina bounced back and forth between Gus and some of her friends, always wearing a smile, always in a cheerful mood. All and all, despite the place, it was an okay evening.

"Hey, Gus," Regina said a little before twelve, appearing at his side. "Can I have a ride home?"

"Yeah," Gus replied getting to his feet. "Only if you don't mind dropping Juliet and Shawn off first."

"Is that their names?" Regina asked a little embarrassed. "I've been calling them Shane and Janet all night. No wonder they've been giving me weird looks every time I talk to them."

"It's an honest mistake," Gus said flashing her smile. Really it wasn't, he had told her their names six or seven times that night, but he didn't want to be rude to her. So, he finished the water he had been nursing all night, found Shawn talking to the bartender about his bartending stint in Argentina, and Juliet talking to a woman named Franny about wedding stuff. Apparently Franny had been married six times, to four different men. She really had a thing for her third husband.

_"_I'm sorry about the name thing," Regina kept saying to Shawn and Juliet. Juliet had brushed it off like it was nothing, telling her '_Don't worry about it, after so many Shakespeare jokes it's nice to be called something different."_ While Shawn said, _"After solving nearly eighty cases for the police department, I'm surprised you haven't gotten my name right."_ It was a joke, Gus knew, but he was afraid Regina would take it a little too seriously.

"_Then maybe next time I should put a label on your forehead to remind me,"_ she had responded coolly, brushing Gus's worry away. It also made Shawn smile and tell her, "_That may work. I'll keep that in mind._"

It was a little after one by the time Gus got back to his apartment building. He was tired, he really didn't like staying up this late, but didn't tell Regina that. She didn't need to know that he was a-what phrase did Shawn use-'Boring, McBoring pants.' Because he wasn't a Boring McBoring pants. He just liked sticking to a schedule; no matter how many times Shawn has taken him off said schedule. And it had been a lot over the past five years. So many times, in fact, that Gus had lost track. He was sure it was somewhere in the mid-hundreds, maybe more.

"That was fun," Regina said following Gus out of the car.

"Yeah, thanks for inviting me," Gus said locking his car.

"Thanks for coming with me," she replied giving him a small smile.

They walked into the building, Gus allowing her to go in before him, and toward the stairs. The elevator had been out for a while, something to do with faulty wiring, and they were forced to return to the decade before electricity. Gus wasn't happy about this, but he was with Regina so he was going to suck it up.

They reached their floor in no time, still silently enjoying each others' company. It would have been a nice ending to the evening: Gus walking Regina to her door, saying good-night, maybe getting a peck on the cheek. Except, Regina's door was slightly ajar.

"Did you leave…?" Gus started.

"No, I didn't," Regina whispered, her voice sounding breathless with fear.

"That's what I thought," Gus replied creeping toward her apartment. Regina followed, gripping his forearm in a vice-like hold. Gus really wished she would let go, his entire arm going numb, right down to his fingertips. But he didn't say anything, there was no point.

Sometimes Gus hated his 'fearless Guster' façade he put on around important people and women. In any normal situation he would be running the other way, sometimes with Shawn in toe, but he couldn't this time. He had to make sure Regina was going to be safe. Yes, he could call the cops, Juliet or McNab-hell most of the SBPD-would be there in a heartbeat, but he had to do this. He had to look tough in front of Regina.

He gently laid his fingertips on Regina's door, slowly pushing her door open. He looked around, finding no odd silhouette's in the darkness, and let his other hand grope around until he found the light switch. When he came across it, he flipped the lights on and looked around the front room.

Someone had done a number on Regina's apartment, all her belongings scattered across the floor. There was a rip in her leather couch, stuffing flowing out of the material and onto the floor. A kitchen chair lay on its side, glass littered around it, next to the entertainment center. The television had a hole in it, someone obviously hitting it with the downed chair.

"Oh my God," Regina whispered pushing past Gus to get inside her place. He followed her, watching as she picked up a fallen lamp.

"You shouldn't touch anything," Gus said realizing they could be compromising potential fingerprints, any type of evidence.

"Who could do this?" she asked glancing around the place, ignoring Gus's words. Before Gus could respond, he felt something heavy collide with the back of his head everything going automatically dark…


	3. Chapter 3

**This chapter is very uneventful, and I swear cooler things will happen in later chapters. If you've read anything from me, someone usually gets shot. And I don't think I'm about to change my ways anytime soon.**

**Anyway, I own nothing and I really hope to hear from you guys. Unless you don't want a forth chapter and then I can stop.**

**Bye…**

**Present Day…**

Lassiter stood outside the interrogation room, head resting against the metal door, waiting for Spencer to show up. It was the only request Shawn had, that Lassiter just wait until he showed up before questioning Gus. Steinberg was all for going against the request, but as head detective Lassiter had seniority and shot him down. When Steinberg tried to appeal to Vick, she too told him to wait for Shawn.

"_What can he do_?" Steinberg had snarled. "_He's not a lawyer, we don't even know if he's really psychic."_

O'Hara had glared at him at that point and said, "_Nobody likes a skeptic, Detective." _Before Steinberg could open his mouth Vick interrupted with a quick, "_That's enough Walt, O'Hara."_

Walter Steinberg wasn't exactly Lassiter favorite person, in fact he hated him. It's not that he wasn't a good detective, he was one of the best, it's just he thought he was supreme commander of all things homicide because he happened to be the lead detective of homicide. No, there were several other higher ups he had to go through, Lassiter included. He was just an arrogant jackass too ready to jump to conclusions and not listen to all the facts. It was the downfall of most young detective.

"Lassie," a familiar voice said making Lassiter turn. Spencer came hurrying toward him; a pale, brown haired guy, wearing a suit, following him. Lassiter recognized the guy from a while back, Hornstock or Hornstuff… something like that. He was friends with Spencer and Guster, also a lawyer. Guster's lawyer it seemed.

"Lassie is he in there?" it was the most serious Spencer had been, in a long time. Guster was one of the most important people in Shawn's life-his mother, father, and O'Hara also on the list-and nothing bad could happen to him without Spencer trying to interfere… to any of them, actually.

"Yes, Spencer, but I'm going to need you to sit out here," Lassiter said keeping himself between Shawn and the door.

"There is no damn way you are keeping me from that room," Shawn said trying to push past Carlton.

"Actually I can arrest you for interfering in a police investigation," Steinberg said stepping off the steps and turning the corner. "This must be the reason we were stuck waiting."

"Yes, I'm Adam Hornstock. Attorney…" Hornstock held out his hand, dropping it when Steinberg walked past him. "Okay," he said under his breath.

"Shall we, Detective?" Steinberg pushed past Lassiter and opened the door. He disappeared inside, not even waiting for Carlton to follow. Lassiter turned to Shawn and said, "Stay out here for now," before he entered the room, followed by Hornstock. He kept his eyes averted from Guster, closing the door to distract himself for a few seconds. Finally, he couldn't avoid Gus for long, he had to look.

The younger guy had is head down, face buried in his arms, ignoring the coffee O'Hara had given him earlier. He hadn't said much, actually he hadn't said anything. It was the quietest Lassiter had seen the sales' rep without Spencer saying something to piss him off.

"So, Mr. Guster, ready to confess," Steinberg said taking a seat directly across from Gus. Hornstock took a seat next to Gus, nudging him to look up.

He did, his usually dark skin almost a sickly, pale color. He had blood shot eyes, a slight wince every time he moved his head or looked into direct sunlight, and wrinkled and bloody clothes. It was an image of Burton Guster that Lassiter had never seen. Making Lassiter glad Spencer hadn't been allowed in the room. This was sad for Lassiter to see, he didn't want to know how Shawn would take it.

"My client is innocent until proven guilty and antagonizing…"

"Mr. Hornsticks…"

"It's Hornstock," Hornstock interrupted under his breath.

"Whatever. Look, Mr. Guster was found at the scene of the crime, covered in the victim's blood. It doesn't take a genius to figure…"

"Where's the weapon," Hornstock said quickly. "Where's the weapon with Gus's fingerprints on it? Huh? Can't exactly convict him without cold, hard evidence. What you have is mostly circumstantial."

"Maybe Mr. Guster threw it away. Who knows?"

"When Regina Taylor's neighbor called the police, she said there were two bodies. One in the bed: the victim, and one on the floor, by the dresser: Guster. He was out for probably the entire fifteen minutes before we got there. So, unless he…"

"Lassiter, do you honestly think you can be involved in this case without being a little bias," Steinberg said over Carlton's voice. "Guster isn't exactly as stranger to you."

"Don't question my loyalties, Walt."

"I'm just saying, Carlton. Guster and his nuisance of a friend have helped you on several cases. You can't tell me you'd like to see him proven innocent."

Steinberg, begrudgingly, was right. Lassiter wanted to see Gus get off the hook. Not because they were friends, he hadn't exactly had a full on conversation with Gus in a while, but to avoid having to see Spencer moping around the police station, trying to find any and all ways to get his friend out of jail. Because there was no way Shawn was going to let Guster go to jail, not willingly.

"Look, Detective Steinberg, you can't keep Gus here without proof…"

"Actually, Hornstock, I can hold him for forty-eight hours under suspicion. Two days should be plenty of time. So go ahead, Guster, keep your silence. I'll find out where you hid that weapon." And with those words Steinberg stood and stormed out of the room.

It was strange, seeing someone not even try to defend themselves. Lassiter knew, in his gut, that Guster didn't do what he was being accused of. Burton Guster didn't kill people. He may threaten Shawn Spencer with death, but he didn't kill people. But Guster wasn't saying a word, not a thing. It could be shock, Lassiter hadn't ruled that out, but it was still strange.

"Detective Lassiter, can I talk to my client alone?" Hornstock asked curiously.

"Sure," Carlton replied quickly, backing out of the room. Truth was he couldn't be in that room anymore. Not with the unusually quiet Guster, who wasn't saying a word to defend himself, sitting in his bloody clothes. Which reminded Lassiter that he should really…

He froze, Spencer holding out a bag to him. He hadn't realized he was halfway toward the steps, the interrogation room's door firmly shut behind him. He was never this absent minded, never. It didn't make a proper detective, letting the mind wander. In fact, it was very unprofessional and a sure fire way to get shot.

"I thought Gus would need these," Shawn said quickly, waiting for Lassiter to grab the bag.

"I'll be sure to give it to him," Carlton replied taking the bag. "Have you 'divined' anything helpful?"

Shawn shook his head sadly, sinking onto the steps leading up to the main portion of the police station. He let his elbows rest on his knees, his eyes locking on the evidence room's door, knuckles supporting his chin. "You know, I never thought Gus would be the one behind bars. Surely, I would be the one he'd have to visit."

"There's still time," Lassiter replied quietly. Knowing Spencer like he did, there was no doubt he'd end up doing something jail worthy. He got too caught up in solving a case, did things semi-illegal to get results. Something was bound to bite him in the ass.

"I always used to make him play the criminal when we were little and played cops and robbers. And Gus would tell me he was never going to jail so he didn't deserve to be the criminal. And I guess he didn't, but I was seven and really didn't think that way. Plus, I was the one being trained to be a cop, so I needed a criminal to practice on. You know?" Classic Spencer, babbling when he was trying to conceal his emotions. Yes, normally it was about the case he was working on, not his past so much, but babbling did come in several different styles.

"Shawn," Lassiter started sitting down next to the 'psychic', "I promise I will do everything in my power to get Guster out of this."

"Lassie, I'm not six," Shawn started getting to his feet, "I don't need you to make a promise that I'd already made to myself." And with those words, Shawn climbed the steps and headed toward O'Hara's desk. Lassiter stood, about ready to drop the clean clothes off with Gus, but froze when he spotted a familiar guy standing directly in the middle of the police station talking to a rookie cop.

Lassiter had been trying to avoid his brother, not really wanting to deal with Danny right now. It was a stroke of luck that Vick called and asked him to come back to work early. It helped him out a lot. But Danny followed him to the SBPD. Two and a half hours later but followed him nonetheless.

"Crap," he whispered slipping into the shadows before his brother could see him. Running smack dab into McNab.

"Sorry, Detective Lassiter," McNab said closing the filing cabinet with his hip. "Just collecting some case files for my case. Did you hear about Gus?"

"I was at the crime scene," Lassiter replied a little irritated. Even upset, as he clearly was, Buzz McNab was still polite as could be. His parents must have drilled good etiquette into his head from the age of zero. It was annoying sometimes.

"There's no way he could have done this," Buzz said carrying his files toward the stairs. "I know Gus, he wouldn't kill anyone."

"You worry about your cases, and I'll worry about Guster's innocence," Lassiter responded feigning his nonchalance toward whether or not Gus was innocent. He didn't need to let everyone know how much he wanted to see Gus free. Nobody needed to know.

"Okay, sir," McNab said before hurrying up the steps.

"I'll be back in a bit," Lassiter heard Hornstock say, the door opening. The brunette man scurried toward the stairs, his cell phone already out. Carlton waited until he was out of eyeshot, before slipping into the interrogation room.

"Guster," he said looking down at the younger man, whose head was down again. "Spencer brought you some clean clothes to change into." he dropped the bag on the table, sitting down in the unoccupied chair across from Gus.

"At least they didn't find you over the body, holding the murder weapon," Carlton murmured remembering when Drimmer killed Chavez and framed him for it. The evidence didn't look good, kept piling up against Lassiter, but he didn't do it. Everyone who knew him really well, all five people (including his mother), didn't think he did it. Guster did, sorta, but it was kind of hard not to when Lassiter was prone to drawing his weapon. And sometimes it was necessary. He wouldn't apologize for necessity.

"You know what sucks about this whole thing," Guster started, voice hoarse, raising his head from the table.

"You mean being framed for murder isn't the worse part?"

"I liked her, really, truly liked her. And I didn't accuse her of murder, a plus for me. And now she's dead, and whoever did it is still out there. Glad they had a scapegoat ready and waiting. I mean, they hit me in the back of the head. In the back of the head, whoever they were. After they destroyed her apartment. And I should have called the cops, I really should have, but I wanted to look brave in front of her and I didn't. Now she's dead, I'm accused of murder, and whoever did it is still out there. Tell me, Lassiter, how is that fair?"

And it was a good question, one Carlton couldn't answer. He couldn't answer it when he asked himself after being framed, and he still couldn't after Gus asked. Because truthfully, there was no real answer. There were variations, sure, but nothing solid. So all Carlton could say was, "I don't know, Guster. I honestly don't know…"

_**Psych**_

**Lassiter may be a little OOC, I know, but he kind of knows what Gus is going through. He, too, was framed for murder. So, sorry for the going off the rails with Lassiter. I'll try to get him back to normal by the next chapter. Thanks again for reading…**


	4. Chapter 4

**This is late, I know, and I apologize. Please forgive me.**

**Anyway, thanks for the few reviews and alerts last chapter. I hope to hear from you again, and please enjoy this chapter.**

**I own nothing**

**Bye…**

_**Psych**_

Shawn knew he shouldn't be there, he wasn't stupid and his dad's voice, the same voice he heard every time he came up with a half-assed scheme, kept circling his head. _'This is stupid, Shawn.' 'Don't do this Shawn.' 'Getting arrested won't help Gus, Shawn.' _Like always, he ignored the voice and concentrated on the task at hand. Besides, he actually brought gloves this time; he was being responsible and keeping his fingerprints to himself.

_Gus will thank me later_, he thought as he used his best friend's credit card to open Reggie Taylor's apartment door. Once inside, he slid the card back into his pocket and started scanning the living room/kitchen.

Shawn quickly took in the ripped up couch, knife 'wounds' if he wasn't mistaken; the downed chair and broken TV, too obvious what happened there; and the broken lamp that was sitting on the floor. He crept across the floor, shoes crunching the broken glass from the television as he moved across it. He stopped next to the window, glancing down at the street, and froze when he realized there was something smudged across the torn curtain. He crouched down to get a closer look, realizing it was blood.

_If Reggie was killed in her bedroom, why is there blood on the curtain, _Shawn thought quizzically pushing himself to his feet. He turned around and froze when he spotted another red stain on the carpet. He crossed the room, kneeling down to get a closer look. It was obvious, like the curtain, that someone tried to clean it up, but had missed a spot.

"Definite cover up," Shawn muttered filing the two smudges in the back of his brain for later. He stood again, heading toward the bedroom. His gloved hand pushed the door open as he mentally prepared himself for the sight.

There was blood all over Reggie's bed, enough to be Reggie's resting place, but possibly not where she was originally attacked. He had seen several crime scenes in his thirty-plus years, he knew what he was talking about... or thinking about? Yeah, 'thinking about' sounded better. He stepped further into the room, scanning the area for more clues.

If he hadn't been looking for it, he would have definitely missed it. It was sitting under the bed, crammed in the corner where it could be easily missed. Carefully he knelt on the ground, placing his right palm barely six inches from the blood. He used his right hand to grope under the bed, snatching the thing off the floor. He had just pocketed the thing when he heard the door open.

_Crap, _he thought glancing around for a hiding spot. He spotted Reggie's closet and quickly crept toward it, slipping inside. He left the door slightly ajar, waiting for whoever decided to pay Reggie's apartment a visit to appear. It didn't take long, a shadow briefly stopping in her bedroom doorway. The shadow crossed the threshold after a second, taking the shape of Steinberg.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the detective was doing there. He was trying to find anything that would tie Gus to Reggie's murder. Shawn knew the guy didn't have a single shred of evidence convicting Gus, everything was circumstantial. And the thing in his pocket wasn't going to help or hurt Gus, not yet at least. Shawn had to do some more investigating to actually figure out. And he couldn't do that until Steinberg left.

He watched as the detective started searching the room, his gloved hand ghosting over everything looking for something he wasn't going to find. Once his search turned nothing helpful up, he turned to leave, but froze when his eyes caught sight of the closet. Shawn was sure his heart stopped. He willed the detective to ignore the closet, but that was about as helpful as asking Juliet's cats for advice, and Steinberg started to cross the room to check the closet.

Shawn was sure he was busted, Henry's phantom voice didn't sound so ridiculous now, and was already trying to come up with a cover story when lady luck paid him a visit: Steinberg's phone went off. The detective stopped, pulling the phone from his pocket, rolled his eyes, and headed out of the room.

"Steinberg," he answered as he disappeared down the hall. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief as he ducked out of the closet. He waited by the window, watching as Steinberg emerged from the building several moments later and headed towards his car. Shawn waited until the detective was gone before heading out of the apartment.

Once on the elevator, the doors closed and alone, he took out the item from Reggie's room. It was a room key for some motel on the outskirts of Santa Barbara. Shawn had driven past it a couple times, mostly when he was leaving for one of his road trips. It was the closest lead he had, and he was going to take it.

_**Psych**_

Lassiter watched as Shawn left Gus's apartment building, the 'psychic' glancing around before getting on his Norton. Carlton knew exactly what Spencer was up to, it wasn't hard to figure out. It was a stupid plan, as were most of Shawn's plans, but Lassiter could kind of, sort of see-if he squinted-where Shawn was coming from.

But Spencer almost got caught, too. Steinberg was already there when Lassiter showed up and some quick dialing kept the homicide detective from detecting a jackass. A jackass whom Lassiter was about to follow. He waited until Spencer had a good three minute head start before pulling back onto the road. It would be annoying if Shawn 'sensed' that Lassiter was following him.

The 'psychic' lead Lassiter out of town, making Carlton believe for just a second that Shawn had seen him. But he couldn't have, there were always three or four cars between them, he was keeping a safe distance, trying to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible. Of course, Spencer knew what Lassiter's car looked like. He had been around the detective for over five years, seen him with both the cherry red Crown Vick and now the royal blue. He could know and was just waiting for Lassiter to give up. No, Spencer didn't know, he was just being paranoid. Or was he…?

Lassiter's tirade was cut short when he noticed Shawn pull into a motel's parking lot. He watched as the 'psychic' got off his bike; wondering why in the hell Spencer decided to stop here. Slowly he drove past, parking his Crown Vick a good block away. He shut down the motor, removed the keys, and pushed open the door. Once the car was locked up, he trekked back to the motel.

His plan was to stealthily spy on Shawn, finding out why he was here and how this inevitably tied in with Gus. It was a good plan, a flawless plan… if Shawn hadn't been waiting for him.

When Carlton turned the corner, to the entrance of the parking lot, he found Spencer leaning against a telephone pole, arms crossed, with a small smirk on his face.

"Where were you? I've been waiting for, like, three and a half minutes. It was exhausting."

"Shut up, Spencer," Lassiter grumbled walking past him. "When did you spot me?"

"About seven seconds after you started following me. I mean, c'mon, twice I could hear you yelling at another car to speed up. Lassie, you are horrible at tailing people."

"I'll have you know…" Lassiter cut off, taking a deep breath. "You know what, never mind. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Psychic vibrations…" Shawn started pushing away from the telephone pole and following Lassiter.

"Cut the crap, Spencer," Carlton interrupted stopping short and turning to look at the 'psychic'. "I saw you leave Guster's building in a hurry. You obviously found something. And instead of doing the smart thing and handing it over to the SBPD, you decided to look into it yourself. Am I right?"

"Okay, first off. Stop acting like my dad, it's creeping me out," Shawn started as he continued to walk. "Second, I do this all the time. Where have you been?" Carlton had to admit, Shawn was right. He quickly chased after the 'psychic' listening to the rest of his speech. "And third, aren't you the SBPD's Head Detective? If you're willing to help me, it's almost like I'm handing this alleged piece of evidence over to you without actually handing it over.

"Besides, it's Gus. I can't exactly wait for you guys to get a search warrant, not with Steinberg ready to throw him under the bus at any moment."

Lassiter thought about it for a second, recalling how Shawn stopped at nothing to uncover the truth about Chavez's real murderer, getting Carlton off the hook in the process. That was for a work acquaintance, who knew what sort of antics Spencer could get into to help Gus. At least with Carlton watching him, the 'psychic' could avoid jail time. So, the detective sighed and said, "Two minutes. We find anything remotely helpful and we call it in, okay?"

"Can I have two and a half…?"

"Spencer," Lassiter warned throwing him a quick look.

"Fine, two minutes." They walked past the front office, down the first row of rooms. "You know you're very bossy," Spencer said after a few seconds of silence.

"What?" Lassiter asked turning his head to glare at the 'psychic'.

"I said 'you're bossy'. It's like, if we were in a relationship, you'd most definitely be the controlling, jealous type. I'd never be able to talk to anyone."

"Spencer, first off, you aren't my type. Second, if you were we'd never date because I would probably shoot you. And third, my bossy-ness is from years of dealing with jackasses like you."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, Shawn sometimes glancing at a room number after looking at something in his pocket. After a few seconds the 'psychic' murmured, "I'm not a four-legged farm animal."

Carlton wasn't sure whether to laugh or call Spencer a dumbass, so he opted to just shake his head and keep his mouth shut. He gestured for Shawn to continue his search; hoping conversation would come to a close sometime soon.

After searching a row and a half of rooms, Shawn finally found what he was looking for. A faint smell came from underneath the door of room twenty-three, one Lassiter was sure he smelt but couldn't quite pinpoint. On the knob, the 'Do Not Disturb' sign swung back and forth with a light breeze. Obviously, whatever was behind this door, no one wanted it to be seen.

"Do you smell that?" Spencer murmured pulling a set of blue latex gloves out of his pocket. He pulled on the left one seconds before extracting a key card from his coat pocket.

"Where'd you…?"

"Psychic vibrations," was all the 'psychic' said before sliding the card in the lock. The tiny light glowed green, a faint **beep** administering, and Shawn opened the door.

The smell was worse with the door open, a rancid stench that assaulted Lassiter's nostrils. After thousands of crime scenes, hundreds of murders, he could now identify the smell.

She was lying on the floor, dried blood surrounding her, her face turned slightly to the right. Blood splattered the walls, the furniture, everywhere. No surface was safe from the red fluid.

"Oh my, gosh," Shawn whispered from behind Lassiter, causing the detective to glance back at him. The 'psychic's' eyes were locked on something just to the right of Lassiter's shoulder. Carlton slowly turned, eyes falling on an innocent enough bulletin board nailed to the far wall. There were pictures thumb tacked to the board, making Lassiter walk closer to get a better look.

Each photo was of a very familiar person, someone Lassiter saw almost every single day. It was like a shrine of Burton Guster. Gus with Shawn, Gus at work, Gus at home: Gus, Gus, Gus, Gus. Whoever this girl was, she had had a very unhealthy with Guster.

Lassiter had his phone out, quickly dialing the SBPD. He couldn't quite wrap his head around what was going on, but it was something definitely fishy. The desk sergeant picked up a few seconds later, Carlton quickly explaining what was going on. About halfway through his explanation he heard a small gasp and Spencer say, "Crap."

"What?" Lassiter asked covering the mouth piece of his cell, glancing over to see the 'psychic' looking down at the victim's face.

"I know her," Shawn started, a troubled look on his face. "She was the missing girl Gus, McNab, and I were looking into. Her name's Gigi Gray…"


	5. Chapter 5

**Before I make any comments, I have to make a quick note. I realized I broke the elevator in chapter two, yet in chapter four Shawn was riding it. No one caught it, or if they did they didn't tell me, but I did and I apologize for that. If there is anything else I screwed up on feel free to tell me. Please, I would love to be as accurate as possible and I can't if little things like whether or not the elevator was running are messed up. Thanks….**

**Anyway, this is really late, I know, but I haven't forgotten any of you guys/gals. This, I hope, is the beginning of quicker chapters. Just bare with me.**

**So, thanks for the support, I own nothing, and here's hoping I catch you in the next chapter.**

**Let me know what you think**

**Bye…**

_**Psych**_

Gus's eyes were locked on the table, his brain trying to unsuccessfully shut off, when the door flew open and someone stormed in. He looked up, Steinberg's leering face pinpointed on Gus's.

"Well Mr. Guster, we found your stalker," Steinberg said still wearing his malicious smile.

"What?" Gus asked-voice hoarse from disuse-confused by the comment.

"Gigi Gray."

"You mean the girl McNab has been looking for?"

"So you do know her?"

"Not personally," Gus said. "What did you mean my stalker? How is she my stalker?"

"Oh, you don't know? You don't know how her motel room wall was covered in pictures of you?"

"What…?"

"You see, Guster," Steinberg interrupted taking a seat directly across from Gus, "I think Ms. Gray had some kind of crush on you, and you decided to humor her. Then you got bored with her, maybe she got too clingy, so you killed her. Unfortunately, Ms. Taylor saw you do this, and when she refused to keep quiet you killed her, too."

"Your wrong," Gus argued not sure what was more shocking: Gigi's apparent infatuation with him, the fact that she was dead, or the insane theory Steinberg just came up with.

"I don't see why you continue to deny it, Mr. Guster. Two woman, both with ties to you, are both dead. You killed them didn't you?"

Before Gus could respond, the door flew open and Lassiter crossed the threshold, Hornstock right behind him. "Don't answer any more of his questions, Gus," Adam said skirting the table to stand next to the sales rep.

"I thought you said you'd wait for me," Lassiter snapped glaring at Steinberg.

"You were taking too long. Besides, I had him on the ropes, he was going to confess."

"Detective Steinberg, you were instructed to await my presence before questioning my client. Keep it up, and Chief Vick could assign you to another case. It's your choice." Gus was impressed by Hornstock's attempt to stand up to the detective, but he could still hear the slight nervous tick. As good a lawyer as he had gotten in five years, there was still a few habits he couldn't quite break.

Steinberg sniffed, made to open his mouth, shut it, and stalked out of the room. Lassiter closed the door behind him and faced Gus.

"What was he talking about?" the sales rep asked his eyes flicking from Hornstock to Carlton. "Gigi Gray had pictures of me? Why?"

"We aren't sure, Guster. Did you see her around?"

"No," Gus replied mentally remembering the photo of Gigi he had been shown. He had seen her anywhere, and he ran into a lot of people in his line of work… works…During his jobs.

"Well, she was definitely following you."

"But why?"

"We don't know," Lassiter said running a hand through his hair, "but we'll figure it out."

"Does Shawn have a theory?" Of course Shawn had to have a theory; he always had a theory, even when a theory wasn't needed. Gus just hoped this theory wasn't half-assed like the ones his friend usually came up with.

"If he does, he hasn't shared it," Hornstock said. Gus didn't know how to feel about that. Shawn usually shared his theories with anyone who would listen. He one time had an hour long conversation with a homeless man about his plan to create his own country and his theories about whether or not there should be Kings and Queens instead of a president or a prime minister.

"Where is Shawn?" Gus asked a little frustrated his friend hadn't been around to see him.

"I thought it was best that he not see you," Lassiter said slowly, avoiding Gus's eyes.

"I would like to talk to him, alone, if you two don't mind," the sales rep murmured locking his eyes with the table again.

"Guster…"

"Please, Lassie. Just let me speak to him."

Lassiter heaved a deep sigh, but still opened the door and walked out. Hornstock nodded once and followed, leaving the sales rep alone again. It took a few moments, a few moments Gus did not appreciate-his mind just wouldn't stop chugging out thoughts of possible jail time-but Shawn finally slipped into the room.

Gus looked up at his friend, noting the fake grin spread across his face. He was going to try and hide behind sarcastic quips and snide remarks; it was the Shawn Spencer way after all. And for once, Gus just wished he wouldn't. This time he wasn't going to play along, he needed his friend to be serious for once in his life. It was a serious situation, his parents were coming home from Jamaica for God sakes-they've never stopped mid-way through a trip to Jamaica unless it was a dire emergency.

"Shawn before you start, I need you to be serious," Gus said quickly when Shawn opened his mouth. "Please tell me you have a plausible theory and not something along the lines of 'An alien possessing Gigi to take photos of me.' I could end up serving time in prison, PRISON Shawn, and I can tell you right now I won't survive prison. I won't. So please, please, please be serious and tell me your theory." the sales rep fell silent, waiting for his friend to make any comment, even a sarcastic one despite his long speech.

"Gus," Shawn started his smile wilting slightly, taking a seat across from Gus. "I do have one theory, but you won't like it."

"What?" Gus asked warily.

"Evil twin," Shawn replied and then flashed him another fake smile.

"Damn it, Shawn." he took a deep breath, hoping to staunch any death threats he had on the tip of his tongue, and said, in a forced calm voice, "What have you found, then? Anything remotely helpful?"

Shawn paled slightly, but he managed to barely keep his faux-grin on his face when he said, "Besides a dead body in a motel room, nothing."

"Is it really Gigi Gray?"

"Please, Gus, who do you think you're talking to? I know what she looked like, after seeing her pictures fifteen times. It was her. She was killed the same way Reggie was, stabbed several times." now the smile was completely gone, replaced by a barely masked look of disgust. "I found this key card on the floor of Reggie's apartment floor, almost got caught by Steinberg, and headed toward the motel afterward. We found Gigi on the floor. Whoever killed her put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door. It was like he was saving her for later. I'm going to find this sick-o, Gus. If it's the last thing I do, I'll find him."

"Spencer, time's up," Lassiter said pushing the door open. Shawn nodded, getting to his feet. He flashed Gus one last, weak smile, and exited the room. Gus knew Shawn wasn't going to rest until he was exonerated, he just hoped his friend didn't lose his life doing just that.

_**Psych**_

Shawn walked away from the interrogation room, Hornstock pushing past him to get back inside. He crossed the floor, intending to continue his investigation, but froze when he heard a familiar voice coming down the stairs. He ducked behind the evidence room's open door, listening carefully.

"I know it was a long shot, Guster being there, but I took it and now I'm off the hook." it was quiet for a second and then, "Okay, _we_. We are off the hook." The voice dropped to barely a whisper as it said, "I do realize you actually committed the murders, but I'm still covering for you." He was quiet for a few more seconds, then said, "Meet you where? How long? Okay, be right there." The sound of a phone snapping closed, followed by the emergency exit opening.

Two options rolled through Shawn's head. One: tell Lassiter what he had just heard, have him investigate. Smart, yes, but also slow. Two: Follow the guy. Stupid, reckless, half-assed: Shawn's favorite plans. So, he quickly and quietly trekked the ten or twelve steps to the fire exit, wondering why that annoying buzzing sound didn't go off when the door opened.

Once outside, he realized he had no way of following the guy. His Norton was too loud, Gus's car was back at his apartment, and he couldn't steal Lassiter's car again. He'd be thrown in a cell right next to Gus's if he tried that. It was times like these he wished he had The Flash's power of speed running. He'd be able to tail so many people, catch so many bad guys. Plus, it'd be so cool.

While thinking about how cool it'd be to run faster than light, while simultaneously trying to figure out how to tail someone without said power, he didn't hear the approach of footsteps. He wasn't aware of the new presence until something heavy collided with the back of his head. As he fell, darkness quickly engulfing him, he heard the voice say, "For a psychic, you sure are stupid…"

_**Psych**_

**Oh no, who did that voice belong to? And who, if there was anybody, was he talking to? Stay tuned to find out… (Wow that sounded like a cheesy voice over. Trust me it sounded better in my head.)**

**Bye…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey, new chapter new situations. I brought back another character from Psych history. I hope you like her.**

**Anyway, thanks for the support last chapter, let me know what you think for this one, and I'll catch you in the next chapter.**

**I own nothing**

**Bye…**

_**Psych**_

"Shawn if you get this call me," Juliet said after getting Shawn's voicemail for the fourth time. She threw her cell onto her desk, running her hands down her face.

"Still can't reach him?" Buzz asked, stopping next to her desk carrying two cups of coffee. He handed one to Juliet, getting a nod of thanks in return.

"No," Juliet responded around a small sip of hot coffee. She cringed at the bitterness of it, realizing it wasn't a freshly made pot. It was probably made that morning, late last night. She hated old coffee, but she needed something to do with her hands so she drank it anyway.

"Maybe his phone's off," McNab suggested with a small shrug.

"No, that's not like Shawn." Juliet couldn't remember the last time Shawn ignored a phone call from her. It had to be years ago, unless she counted the time he ignored her because she told him she didn't like _Thunder Cats_. It was their first fight as a couple, and it only lasted fifteen minutes because Juliet handed Shawn a snickers and he forgave her. Or forgot what he was mad about, Juliet never really figured out which.

"Maybe Gus knows where he is," Buzz said taking a sip of his own coffee with a shudder.

"Maybe," Juliet muttered pushing herself to her feet. She trekked across the station, down the stairs toward interrogation room B. She didn't know why Steinberg insisted on keeping Gus in the smelly room, he wasn't even questioning him. It didn't make any sense…

Juliet's train of thought drifted off when she noticed the fire exit was ajar. Eyebrows furrowed, she switched directions to the open door. Outside it was cooler than normal; a few clouds were threatening to overtake an otherwise clear day. Ignoring the weather, Juliet let her eyes roam across the ground looking for anything remotely unusual. It took a few seconds, but she finally noticed the red stain on the sidewalk. She crouched next to the stain, getting a closer look, only to bound to her feet and race back inside.

_**Psych**_

Vick sent the blood to be tested, requesting a rush order on the results. She had told Juliet it was unlikely Shawn's blood. _"Several officers and detectives go out there for a break, O'Hara,"_ loosely translated, it meant they went outside to smoke, "_and it could be any one of theirs."_

Juliet highly doubted that, but still tried Henry's place when Vick suggested she do so. His phone rang once, twice before he picked up, "Shawn I swear if you are pranking me again..."

"Henry, it's me," Juliet said quickly feeling her heart sink slightly. It didn't sound like Shawn was at his father's, but a part of her had to be sure. So, she continued, "Have you seen Shawn?"

"No Juliet, why? Is he in trouble?" she hadn't been intending to worry Henry, but with one question she did just that. She was no stranger to the fact that Henry Spencer did not like what Shawn did. Yes, he was happy his son was working with the cops, and had a successful business (mostly). But most of the time Shawn ran into situations without backup, and a lot of the time he was held at gunpoint, or knife point, or 'any other weapon' point. She did not want Henry to storm into the police station. That would not bode well for people-especially if Shawn did just have his phone off. So Juliet hurriedly said, "No, I think he's just avoiding me. I have been hounding him about this wedding stuff, you know?"

"Yeah, he's mentioned it," Henry replied skeptically. "Are you sure he's okay?" Juliet was caught in a lie, she knew she was. Henry wasn't called 'the human lie-detector' for nothing. Of course, he wasn't sitting in front of her, he couldn't see her ticks or her eyes, but it had to be something in her voice. Because he knew she was lying, a big liar, liar pants on fire.

"Juliet, where's my son? What's he gotten into?"

"Uh…" she was a junior detective damn it, she had to have a better answer than 'uh', but for the life of her she didn't.

"I'll be right there."

"Henry wait…" he had already hung up, the dial tone a dull buzz in her ear. Shutting her phone off, she tossed it back on her desk and leaned back in her chair. _Shawn, where ever the hell you are, you better not be in trouble_, she thought wearily awaiting the arrival of hurricane Henry.

_**Psych**_

Light spilled through a huge, plate glass window. It nearly blinded him when he peeled his heavy eyelids open. A spike of pain awoke in the back of his head, his eyes slamming shut once more. Shawn tried to move his hands, hoping to rub his aching cranium, but they were held steadfast against two arm rests, each tied by one of those zippy tie things.

Curtains were drawn seconds later the sound of footsteps following, stopping sixty-six steps from the window. The orange glow from the sunlight vanished from behind his eyelids. With the eye stabbing light gone, he was able to open his eyes. Shawn blinked the stray balls of orange away before he was able to take in the room.

He was in an attic. Boxes were stacked against a wall, half of them labeled **Yard Sale** in black marker. _Odd place to stash me, a family home_, Shawn thought but still filed it away for later. There was an old desk chair across from him, the back broken, two of the wheels missing. An old reading lamp sat on the floor, the light bulb missing. The cord long since chewed away by something. There was a bare bulb hanging above him, the only source of light, leaving him in a makeshift spotlight. _You always want to be in the spotlight,_ Shawn thought, _now it's actually happening._ Just not in the way he liked.

A floorboard creaked behind him, the footsteps coming to mind, causing Shawn to try and see who it was. Only, moving his neck brought back the pain. A hiss escaped his lips, enough to warrant a soft chuckle from the person behind him. _Okay, moving is not so good._

"You know," he started keeping his eyes locked on the empty desk chair, "most people who hate me shoot at me not knock me out." He waited for a response, a part of him anticipating a knife, or bullet, to the back.

"Then be glad I wasn't the one who snatched you," a feminine voice said; a very, very familiar feminine voice.

"I thought they put you away for good," Shawn commented fighting off memories that were threatening to invade his head. A motel room, another fake psychic, a dead body, army time being so damn confusing, Juliet's strange infatuation with an FBI agent…

"I escaped," she whispered in his ear, her brown hair settling on his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his neck. He could smell her perfume, some fruity brand Juliet wore once-before he threw it out.

"And you decided to pay little old me a visit. I am really touched."

She chuckled but didn't respond as she stepped around his chair, meeting his eyes. She hadn't changed much. Her hair was a bit longer, her complexion a tad paler, and a crude scar ran the length of her face. Regardless of the changes, she was still the same psycho that held him at gunpoint in front of a private plane, the same psycho that was overthrown by a little old lady.

"Hello Lindsay."

"Hi Shawn…"

_**Psych**_

Lassiter could still hear Henry yelling as he exited the police station. It wasn't until he closed the door did the retired cop's voice finally cut off. Peace and quiet washed over Carlton, calming his overworked brain for just a second.

The results had come back, the balding coroner faster than sending it off to a lab, about half a minute after Henry walked into the station. It was all the confirmation the officers needed to honestly say Shawn had drawn blood. To O'Hara, Henry, and a few other officers that meant Shawn was in peril. Carlton, however, needed more proof before he allowed himself to believe Spencer had been taken. Yes, the jackass was a trouble magnet, no one would contest to that, but there could be a plausible explanation to Shawn Spencer's disappearance… Carlton just had to find it.

Sometimes Carlton sat in his car and wondered why he had become a cop. It was something he began doing when he and Victoria started arguing over his job. He had done it less and less in recent years, but sometimes he still sat behind the wheel and brooded. Except today apparently…

Danny was leaning against his car, arms crossed, staring at the ground. Lassiter froze, hoping to back away without being seen, but was too slow. His brother caught sight of him, pushing away from the blue Crown Vick and closing the distance between them.

"What?" Carlton questioned meeting his brother's eyes. _The whole point of avoiding someone is to NOT be seen by them_, he thought bitterly.

"I've been trying to call you all day," Danny said. "I'm starting to think you're avoiding me."

"Nope," Lassiter lied, "just trying to solve this case. So, what do you want?"

"I… Look, Mom told me to tell you this. I had asked her to do it for me, you know, maybe you'd take the news better if a third party…"

"Danny what?"

"I'm moving to France."

"That's it," Lassiter said with a slight shake of his head. "You pay for a ticket, fly out here from Florida, just to tell me you're moving. It's called a phone for a reason, Daniel."

"I thought you'd like to know this in person," Danny said color rising across his pale cheeks.

"Well, thanks for the update." Carlton turned to leave, keeping all emotions from his face and voice.

"Why do you always storm away when I tell you stuff," his brother snapped. Lassiter stopped in his tracks, spinning on his heels to face him.

"I storm away? _I_ storm away?" he had to really stop hanging around Guster. "Danny, in case you've been keeping track, you leave a lot more than I do. When Grandma Maggie died you left, when Mom finally came out and told you Dad wasn't coming back we didn't see you for three weeks, when I told you to buckle down…"

"I didn't ask for a list of screw ups, Carlton," Danny spat throwing his hands in the air.

"And I didn't ask you to screw up, either Daniel. Now, I have a case to work. Be sure to lock my front door when you leave." And with those words hanging in the air, Carlton turned and strode toward the station, again. He shouldn't have said any of that stuff, their mother was probably going to call in about three hours, but right now he didn't care. He'd much rather concentrate on the potentially missing 'psychic' and his friend's false accusations. At least one, or both, would be grateful for his help.

Something caught Lassiter's eye, pieces scattered under a bush. Lassiter trekked forward, crouching next to the shrub. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket, pushing the pieces around to get a better look. It wasn't until he noticed the lime green cell cover-replaced by Carlton after he broke the first one-did he realize what it was.

"Crap," he whispered hanging his head. He was wrong, O'Hara and Henry were right, Spencer had been taken…


	7. Chapter 7

**This is short and not-so-sweet, but an update. Thanks for reading, I own nothing , and I hope to catch ya in the next chapter.**

**Bye...**

_**Psych**_

Gus wasn't sure what was going on. He had heard a lot of muffled yelling from above him, a few rushed footsteps. A couple times he thought he heard Henry Spencer, but he couldn't be sure. Shawn's father hadn't exactly been around the station much since he quit his consultant liaison job a few months ago.

Apparently, according to Henry at least, he missed the freedom to fish whenever he wanted to. Gus suspected there was more to it, but he hadn't had the guts to ask. And Shawn, being more than overjoyed to see his dad leave (more cases came in without Henry around to tell them 'no'), didn't listen to Gus's inquiries and theories when the pharmaceuticals rep brought them up.

The door opened, catching Gus's attention, and Lassiter slipped into the room. If Gus didn't know the head detective well he wouldn't' have seen the masked look of worry etched across his face. But after five and a half years it was kind of hard to miss.

"What's going on?" Gus asked giving Lassiter a cautious look.

"Did Spencer, by any chance, stop by here earlier? You know, after I made him leave?" Odd sort of question to ask, especially for Lassie, but Gus decided to humor the detective and answer. "No, why?"

"So, you have no idea where he could be?"

"No, what's going on?"

"Well," Lassiter started, taking a seat across from Gus. "We found Spencer's phone out front, in pieces, and some of his blood out back on the sidewalk."

"What do you…? Shawn's been taken? By who?"

"We don't know, yet. There's a chance he figured something out, something to help you, and the guy who framed you went after him to shut him up. Or he was taken so he wouldn't find anything to help you. Regardless, we have a missing jack… 'psychic' plus your framing and zero clues to help either of you."

"Isn't there a security camera outside? Can't you look at that?"

"We did, Guster, but someone managed to wipe it clean."

"So, you probably lost the only person who could prove the truth and you have no clue how to find him. That's just great." Gus knew he delivered the words bitterly than he meant to, and how harsh they were, but a part of him knew they were true. Over the years, it seemed the cops relied more and more on Shawn to get their cases solved. It was kind of sad, their almost dependency on the man-child.

"Guster, the SBPD was fully capable of solving crimes before Shawn Spencer came along and we will solve these two cases without him as well."

"Yeah, because Shawn never called in any tips..."

"Just thought you'd want to know your friend was missing," Lassiter replied, the only indication he heard Gus the slight clench of his jaw. He pushed himself to his feet, heading toward the door. "If we find anything I'll tell you." and he was gone, the door clicking closed behind him.

Gus laid his aching head on the cool desk, unsure where the spike of anger came from. Now he just felt drained, and a little worried for his friend. He just wished Shawn hadn't gotten into anything stupid.

_**Psych**_

A fist collided with his cheek, a echoing _**thud**_ filling the room, making him wince. He could taste blood in his mouth, was pretty sure a tooth had just been knocked loose. Prison really gave Lindsay more strength than she had when he first met her.

"So, you hate me now?" Shawn commented wishing he could rub his aching face.

"Shawn, I have hated you for a while." She walked away from him, returning a second later with a sharp bread knife. "You see, if my plan had gone the way it was supposed to, I would have shot you the moment we were in the air. But now, shooting you seems too easy. No, I want to make you suffer."

"Hey, Mildred was the one to take you down. I was just a hostage..."

"Oh, I would have gone after her. If she hadn't of died of a heart attack a year ago. Besides, she wouldn't have been as fun as you." the bread knife caught the light, the silver glinting evilly back at him. In fact, all pointed things were evil and out to get him. No matter what Gus and his father said.

"Come on, isn't there anything else you can use to hurt me. A Play-doh knife, a feather, anything but that pointy knife. Hey, I heard pop rocks and soda is bad for people, use that..."

"Shut up," Lindsay snapped plunging the knife down, slamming it into the arm of the chair, inches from Shawn's own arm. He was embarrassed to admit a girlish scream left his lips.

"My God that was thrilling," Lindsay exclaimed around a half-crazed giggle. She yanked the knife free, flecks of loose wood hitting Shawn in the arm. His breath was coming in short gasp, his hands shaking slightly. That was a close call, closer than he would have liked.

"Why... why did you frame Gus?" Shawn stammered, cursing himself for the tremer in his voice.

"Figured that out, did ya?"

"Well, you were the one on the phone, right? The one he was speaking to?"

"Yeah, me and Stretch met a while back. He was visiting the prison for a case, I was assigned cleaning duty. He had slipped into the bathroom, found me working, introduced himself. We have been in contact ever since."

"Stretch? A pet name of his?"

"He doesn't like his real named used. Especially since he's kind of a big deal at the SBPD."

"And what does he call you? Psycho?" Sarcasm had always been Shawn's way to cover up emotions. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it pissed people off, and sometimes (when he was around Gus, his father, or Juliet) it didn't have the affect he wanted. Too bad for him, Lindsay was in the second category.

"Would a psycho do this," she snapped slamming both of her feet into Shawn's chest, sending his chair backwards. The air was knocked out of the 'faux-psychic's' lungs, his already aching head colliding with the floor. A sea of gray exploded behind his eyelids, a wave of nausea rolling through his stomach.

"Yes," he managed to wheeze out, taking in short, gasping breaths.

"Well, maybe I have a new pet name after all," Lindsay replied thoughtfully, just as a door opened from downstairs. "Speaking of Stretch." Heavy footfalls ascended stairs below them, each one getting closer and closer until they were right at the doorway. It opened and a familiar person crossed the threshold.

_This just keeps getting better and better_, Shawn thought bitterly noticing the upside down face, of the upside down detective, from the SBPD, smiling a sadistic smile...


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll catch ya later.**

**I OWN NOTHING...**

_**Psych**_

Shawn's stomach rolled, his vision blurred, when his chair was pulled back onto all fours. It took all his self-control not to throw up on himself. When his bout of nausea passed and his vision snapped back into focus, he found Stretch and Lindsay standing directly in front of him.

"Hm, I thought you'd be worse off than this," Stretch commented with a small shake of his head.

"I'm just getting started," Lindsay replied flashing Shawn a quick smile.

"Look," Shawn started getting both his kidnappers' attention, "this has been great. All this catching up. And I'd hate to spoil all the fun, but don't you think framing Gus was a little overboard to get me. I mean you had a dozen or more chances. Why not just choose one of them?"

"Guster's framing was a very necessary part of this plan. Aside from O'Hara, he would have stopped at nothing to get you back. But I can assure you, once you're dead, Guster will most definitely be acquitted."

"Why's that?" Shawn asked suspiciously.

"Because I am going to make your death look as if Stretch killed you in self-defense. He's going to tell everyone you killed those two women, letting poor, poor Gus take the blame." Lindsay seemed happy to be sharing the plan with Shawn, while Stretch had a look that couldn't quite be placed. Although the faux-psychic had seen it before.

"That's bullshit," Shawn protested seeing several major flaws in the half-assed scheme these two came up with. "Nobody will believe you."

"'Maybe it was the stress of the job,'" Stretch started sounding almost solemn. "'His fiancée has been on him about their wedding. Maybe he just snapped, killed Gigi Gray. Maybe afterwards he had to kill again. So he killed Regina Taylor, too. And Gus, the perfect patsy, so loyal, was willing to take the blame.' How's that for convincing?" Stretch threw him a quick smile.

"I can see the headlines now," Lindsay started with a slight glazed look in her eyes. "'_Acclaimed Psychic turned Murderer.'_ It rolls off the tongue." she laughed, a half-crazed crackle, her hair falling into her eyes.

"How are you going to explain my disappearance then?" Shawn honestly thought he had the detective, caught him at his own game. Until the guy pulled out a knife from his pocket and shoved it between Lindsay's shoulder blades. Finally Shawn was able to place the look, a look of betrayal he had seen several times in his line of work.

The con-woman screamed, falling to a heap on the floor. Shawn's eyes widened in shock, his mouth drying instantly. He didn't need to be a psychic to know what came next. Stretch pulled out his gun, pointing it directly at Shawn's chest.

"You have always been a pain in my ass, Spencer," the detective said slowly, "and now I won't have to deal with you again. So, good-bye Shawn." his finger tightened on the trigger, Shawn's eyes automatically slamming shut. He awaited the sharp pain of the bullet entering his flesh, breaking through his chest cavity and piercing his heart. But it never came.

He heard a scream of pain, his eyes flying open. He watched the detective fall to the floor, a bread knife stuck in his foot. His gun landed with a loud **thud**, the thing going off when it impacted with the floor. The stray bullet entered Shawn's calf, a flash of white, hot pain making him nearly cry out.

For a few seconds things were confusing, the faux-psychic not sure what had exactly happened. But when a second gunshot rang out, he was brought back to reality with a sickening crash.

Stretch was laid out on the floor, blood pooling around him. Lindsay stood over him, breathing heavily, the detective's gun in her hand.

"Asshole," Lindsay spat pocketing the gun and yanking the knife out of Stretch's foot. She stumbled toward the faux-psychic, the detective's knife still stuck in her back.

"How are you not dead?" Shawn asked trying to ignore the pain in his leg. He watched as Lindsay cut him loose, not sure what she had planned.

"He didn't stick it in deep enough to kill me," she replied reaching back and yanking the utensil from her back. She tossed it aside, along with hers, and yanked Shawn to his feet. "Come on," she snapped taking the gun out and motioning him to the door.

The room was spinning dangerously, every time Shawn put weight on his leg he could barely tolerate the pain. Nausea kept rolling through him, waiting for the moment to strike. His vision threatened to go gray several times, but he managed to stay conscious.

"Wait," Lindsay called, ducking down to dig around Stretch's pockets. She pulled out his keys. When she straightened she almost fell, but managed to grab the chair Shawn had been tied to before she did. "Let's go."

The stairs nearly killed him, the pain so bad at times he nearly collapsed. He hated being shot, it always lead to him getting captured by someone. It never lead to a lifetime supply of pineapples.

"Where are we going?" he ground out between clenched teeth.

"As far...from here...as possible," Lindsay puffed out, he own wound taking its toll, too. "Someone was...bound to hear...the gunshots."

It took a few moments longer than it should have, but both of them managed to get outside the small, green, two-story. Shawn had noticed the lack of furniture in the place, despite the crap in the attic. His eyes caught sight of the _For Sale_ sign hammered into the front lawn. It now explained the location.

"Get in," Lindsay snapped pushing him toward a black car parked two houses down. Shawn guessed he could have ran, but the prospect of another bullet hole had him doing as he was told. Plus he doubted he could get really far on his leg.

He pulled the car door open, lowering himself into the seat. He was grateful for the chance to sit down, the pain slowly ebbing away to something manageable. Lindsay slammed his door, stumbling over her own feet as she went around the front of the car and got in the driver side. She started the car, and squealed away from the curb.

Neither spoke for the first couple minutes. They were barely a block and a half away when a cop car sped past them, sirens wailing. It was a close call, Shawn could see it on Lindsay's face.

"You realize you're fingerprints are probably all over that house," Shawn pointed out glancing down at his bloody jeans.

"Burnt them off a few years ago," Lindsay commented not even looking at the faux-psychic.

"Must have been painful." he pulled his pant leg up, the bullet hole bleeding profusely. It didn't go all the way through, panic gripping Shawn when he realized a piece of lead was still stuck in his body. That was far from good.

Lindsay took a left, heading out of town. Shawn looked up from his wound, noticing how deathly pale she looked, her gray hoodie turning red with her crimson blood.

"Where are we going?" he repeated figuring he probably didn't look any better. Lindsay, however, didn't reply, her eyelids drooping slightly. She jerked awake, managing to get the car under control before it swerved into the next lane.

"Should you be driving?" Shawn really didn't want to add several more wounds to his already battered body.

"Shut up," the brunette con-woman snapped. Shawn sighed, turning to look out the window instead. He watched as houses turned into trees, remembering having to run through the forest as Garth Longmore (or whatever his name was) chased him.

The car swerved again, getting his attention. He turned his head, watching as Lindsay's head fell against the window. Her eyes had slid closed, her breath was fogging up the glass. Shawn reached out, taking a hold of the steering wheel.

He tried to keep the car on the road, keep it from crashing into anything, but there was only so much he could do before the vehicle veered off the road. It slammed into a tree, throwing Shawn sideways. His head slammed into the window, cracking the glass, and sending him into a sea of black...


	9. Chapter 9

**I am so sorry this is so late. I have been super busy with other things, but don't fret I have not forgotten you. This is slow, yes, but at least it's an update. I swear the next chapter will be better, longer, and updated a lot quicker. Let me know what you think (reviews will get me to update at Flash like speeds) and I've gotta go.**

**I OWN NOTHING**

**Bye...**

_**PSYCH**_

Lassiter parked in front of the empty two story, an ambulance and a squad car already beating him there. He traded a fleeting glance with O'Hara, before pushing open his door and getting out.

"This isn't helping, Gus," Juliet hissed at him as the two detectives started toward the porch steps.

"There's not much we can do without evidence, O'Hara. Right now we just need to do out job and worry about Guster later."

"And what about Shawn?"

"We have uniforms searching for him. If they find anything we will be the first to know. But until then..."

"...we do out job," Juliet replied slowly, a barely detected tremble in her voice. Lassiter chose to ignore it as he started up the steps, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, stretched across the door frame, stopping short of the threshold.

"What have we got?" he asked looking up at McNab. The young officer gave him a grim look and said, "Neighbors reported gunshots." he lead the two detectives toward the stairs, drops of blood on every step, a red hand print smeared across the banister. The blood practically led them to the attic, two floors above.

"Has anyone taken samples of this blood?" Carlton questioned pointing out both scarlet stains. McNab nodded, "Yeah, Daniels did. She's holding on to them until forensics gets here." he let the two detectives into the room, stepping aside so they could get a good look.

Carlton took in the scene, noting the boxes jammed into the corner. It was probably crap the old owners didn't want. There was a broken computer chair sitting across from another chair, cut away ropes dangling from the arms.

Officer Daniels, a stocky, dark haired woman, was collecting two knives thrown in the corner, while paramedics worked on the body of Walter Steinberg.

"What's Steinberg doing here?" O'Hara asked glancing over at McNab.

"I don't know. Daniels and I found him up here when we came into the attic." the paramedics quickly loaded Steinberg onto a backboard, carrying him out as fast as they could without hurting him, an iv bag full of liquid resting on his chest.

"Did you check the whole house?" Lassiter asked wondering, not for the first time, how Spencer always seemed to know something was up with a scene with just one glance. And fuck that 'psychic vibrations' shit. There was something else he did. Almost unconsciously, Lassiter squinted like Shawn, turned his head to the side, but drew the line at the whole 'hand-to-the-head' thing.

"Carlton, what are you doing?" a voice said bringing him back to reality. The older detective looked at his partner, feeling his ears burn in sudden embarrassment.

"Nothing," he snapped ignoring the half-hearted knowing smiles on McNab's and O'Hara's faces. He rounded on Daniels, practically screaming, "Daniels, do you have those samples ready for the forensics guys?"

"Yes, but Detective Lassiter..."

"Go, now," he snapped and she scurried out of the room.

"McNab, did you check the rest of the house," he demanded rounding on the taller officer. Buzz nodded saying, "It's empty. Whoever was hear with Detective Steinberg is long gone."

"And seemed to have left a blood trail." Lassiter scanned the room again, taking in nothing new. "Were there any fingerprints left behind?"

"Only on the chair with the arms. Along with some hair follicles right here." he pointed to a spot, just behind the chair, where more blood sat. There were also two gouges in the floor, almost as if the chair had been tipped over at one point. "We took samples of both."

"Was there any clues that Shawn might have been here?" Juliet asked letting her own eyes flick across the scene. She had about as much luck as Lassiter had had at finding something useful.

"No, Juliet, sorry," McNab said quietly. She gave him a nod of thanks, but otherwise didn't say another word. Carlton took one last look, internally growled in frustration, and said, "Keep us posted. We're going to the hospital to check on Steinberg, maybe find out what he was doing here."

"Yes, sir."

With a final nod, Lassiter headed out the door with O'Hara in tow. He was going to figure out what went on in that attic, even if it killed him.

_**PSYCH**_

_Gus had finally been put in a cell when Steinberg had failed to show up and harass him some more. He laid across his cot, keeping as far away from the toilet as he could. Who really knew what convicts did in that thing?_

_ There was no word on Shawn, and Gus was beyond worried. The last time Shawn had been taking kept replaying over and over in his head. Then the faux-psychic had been shot, was bleeding, yet ran from his abductors. What if, this time, something worse had happened to Shawn? Gus really wished the people who took Shawn would be caught soon, and that Shawn was still alive when they were._

_ A door opened, bright light spilling down the dimly lit hallway, getting Gus's attention. He sat up, watching as Henry Spencer approached his cell. The older man stopped short of the bars, wrapping his hand around one. It was silent for a good seven seconds, the tension couldn't have been any thicker, when finally Henry said, "This is your fault, you know?"_

_ "What?" Henry had never blamed Gus for anything. It was usually Shawn who got the blame, no matter whose idea it was to do something stupid. To hear those words, in that tone of voice, was enough to make Gus cautious._

_ "You heard me. You're the reason Shawn is missing. My son could die because of you." every word was like a tiny dagger stabbing Gus in the heart. "If he dies, you can join him. If he dies, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" Henry threw himself at the bars, turning into a bloody Shawn..._

Gus jerked awake, barely suppressing a scream. He pushed himself up, off the lumpy mattress, and scrambled to his feet. He let his eyes scan his cell, half expecting Henry to still be watching him. But there was no one, just Gus.

The pharmaceuticals rep glanced out the barred window, silently hoping Shawn would be standing above him, a huge grin on his face, promising to get him out of this. Except, he wasn't. Shawn Spencer was missing.

"Shawn where are you?" Gus whispered settling back on his cot. _Please be okay_, he thought wearily, placing his face in his hands. _Just be okay..._


	10. Chapter 10

**Thanks for supporting this story, review please, and I own nothing.**

**Until next time...**

_**Psych**_

Pain was the first thing he registered when awareness returned to him. His head felt like it had parted with his body, after an elephant had stepped on it. Feeling and sound came next. Someone was violently shaking him, the motion making him sick. A feminine voice kept saying, "Wake up. Wake up, damn it."

Shawn tried, he really did, but his eyelids had been glued shut by some evil, stupid, pineapple hating asshole. Why did they hate pineapple? Because anyone who loved it would never treat a fellow pineapple-lover like this.

"Stop." Shawn managed to choke out, very much aware of the fact that the one word sounded more like a groan than English. His mouth felt as if it were full of cotton. The same pineapple hater must have stuffed his mouth with the cottony-evilness that was cotton.

"Then wake up," the voice said giving him another, much harder shove. As his hip slammed into something solid, his eyes flew open.

His vision was blurry, a fuzzy silhouette stood over him. He was laying against something soft, something warm and sticky was running down the side of his face. Somewhere to the right of him, a cool breeze blew past making him shiver despite the jacket he was wearing. He tried to remember what had happened, how he had gotten here, but for the life of him he couldn't. Eidetic memory and he couldn't remember how he had gotten hurt. How poetic was that?

"Shawn?" the female voice said again, coming from the silhouette.

"Jules?" he whispered as his vision slowly slipped back into focus.

"No lover boy," the girl replied just as Lindsay came into crystal, clear focus. With her face came a flood of memories from the past few hours causing Shawn's head to give a nasty throb of pain.

"Y...you crashed the car," he muttered trying to sit up. Moving sent a wave of nausea through him, everything he had eaten in the past twenty-four hours threatening to make a second, unwanted appearance.

"Yeah," Lindsay responded simply, wincing when she moved too quickly. She looked behind her, her eyes widening at the sight, and met the faux-psychic's eyes. "Can you walk?"

"What?"

"Can you walk?" Lindsay repeated slower. "Because we've got to go." without waiting for Shawn to answer, she grabbed his arm and started trying to pull him from the car.

Pain exploded behind Shawn's eyelids, black dots took over his vision, everything was going grey. The last thing Shawn felt before blacking completely out was his body hitting the ground.

_**Psych**_

Juliet was hunched over her desk, fingers flying over her keyboard, trying to find any type of loophole that would get them their lab results faster. A phone rang somewhere in the distance, probably just the hospital updating Vick about Steinberg's condition. He had still been in surgery when she and Carlton left the hospital. The doctors weren't one-hundred percent hopeful he was going to make it. At the moment she was too focused on figuring out if any of that blood was Shawn's to care. She would let herself care when she knew Shawn had not been held captive in that house.

"O'Hara," a voice said getting her attention. She looked up from her compute screen, meeting Lassiter's blue eyes. She caught a flicker of worry behind those eyes before it was gone. Something was wrong.

"Yeah, Carlton?"

"The hospital just called."

"Is it Steinberg?" _play dumb, don't let him see you're worried. It can't be Shawn, he's fine._

"No. He's still in surgery."

"Then what?" _oh God, don't let it be him. Please don't let it be him._

"They found Spencer..."

The car ride to the hospital was almost silent, save for the crackle of Lassiter's police radio. Juliet could feel her heart thudding against her chest, she had to cross her arms to stop them from shaking. That and to avoid the ring on her finger. The one Gus swore Shawn spent a good chunk of change on. It looked more like something he got for a quarter in one of those machines... or a prize from a Cracker Jack box. Regardless, he had given it to her when she had agreed to his proposal. He had promised they would be together forever, that they would start a family, that he would actually settle down in one house and not move her all over the place. She couldn't be reminded of those promises, not until she knew he was going to be okay.

Carlton parked long enough to let Juliet out. As he drove toward the parking lot to park, she sprinted into the hospital. The place was buzzing with people, a lot waiting for an ER doctor to check them over. The resident nurse was just handing a clipboard over to a man whose hand was bleeding when Juliet ran over to her and said, "S... Shawn Spencer?"

"Excuse me," the nurse-her tag reading M. Pierson-said giving Juliet a suspicious look.

"Is Shawn Spencer...?"

"Detective O'Hara?" a familiar voice said getting Juliet's attention. The Junior Detective turned, eyes catching a red headed doctor maneuvering her way through the crowded waiting room to Jules' side.

"Dr. Reynard." Juliet had met the doctor when Shawn had lost his memory. She had worked on him, Carlton,and Vick during the exact same case. Jules had gotten to know her since then, Shawn having ended up in the ER several times.

"Are you here for Shawn?" the doctor asked when she was within a few feet of the detective.

"Yeah, is he...? How is...? Where is he?" she looked around, expecting to see him heading toward her, a huge grin on his face, trying to convince her he was just fine.

"He's this way... Detective Lassiter, you're here, too?" Juliet spared a glance behind her, noticing her partner approaching them. He managed a half-smile, but nothing more. Reynard returned the greeting with a nod and led the two detectives away from the noisy and crowded waiting area and down a much quieter hallway.

"What's going on?" Lassiter asked indicating the packed ER behind them.

"That was a typical Friday night at the hospital, Detective," Reynard replied approaching a curtained off cubical. She pulled it aside, letting both detectives enter before following them.

Shawn was hooked up to an IV, a clear bag of saline sitting above him. He was paper white, a bandaged gash covering the right side of his head. He was covered with a blanket, his eyes closed and chest rising and falling in sleep or unconsciousness. Juliet couldn't be sure.

"He was found on the side of the road by an older couple. It appeared he had fallen out of an abandoned car's passenger seat, whoever had been driving was long gone. The car, I hear, had collided with a tree. Was he with Gus?" Reynard was all to familiar with Gus, both from the many visits to the hospital and his other job as a pharmaceuticals salesman.

"No, we aren't sure who he was with," Carlton replied slowly.

"You mean he was...?" Reynard trailed off, her eyes widening.

"We can't be sure," was all Lassiter said. They weren't supposed to discuss an ongoing investigation with the public. For fear that a reporter could get a hold of the information. It had happened before, Internal Affairs would like to avoid a second incident like that.

"Is he going to be okay?" Juliet blurted out taking Shawn's hand between hers.

"He suffered a mild concussion and a bullet wound..."

"He what?" a voice exclaimed, Henry Spencer pushing past Lassiter to get inside Shawn's cubical. Jules hadn't even remembered telling Henry about Shawn, figuring Carlton or Vick had broken the news. She wasn't even sure how Shawn's father found them, unless he was following them.

"The bullet had entered his calf, hadn't gone too deep. He won't need surgery and should be up and about in no time. He'll have a headache, and probably an aversion to loud noises and bright lights for a few days. But Mr. Spencer is going to be just fine."

"Then why is he unconscious?" Henry asked taking his post on the other side of Shawn's bed.

"Just a mild sedative. He should be awake by the time we get him his own room."

Carlton's phone rang, cutting off any other comments. He checked the id before stepping out of the curtained cubical. "Lassiter," he said as he trekked down the hallway.

"So, he's going to be okay?" Juliet had to be sure, had to know she wasn't about to lose him.

"He's going to be fine, Detective O'Hara." Reynard reassured her again and quietly left, leaving Henry and Juliet alone with Shawn.

Jules made to open her mouth, say anything to break the awkward silence between them, but was interrupted by Carlton sticking his head inside the cubical and saying, "Steinberg's out of surgery and awake."

_**Psych**_

Lassiter entered the small room first, Juliet behind him. He looked around, noticing the bright, white walls, too clean smell, and machinery that goes with being in a hospital. Steinberg laid in his bed, heavy lidded eyes following their movements, a nasal canal in his nose. He was hooked up to an IV and a heart monitor. No doubt other things were hooked to him as well, but Carlton didn't want to dwell on those just now; if ever.

"How are you doing, Steinberg?" Lassiter asked stopping short of the detective's bed.

"B...bad question L...Lassiter," Steinberg replied wincing when he tried to sit up. He gave it up as a bad job, sticking to laying down despite how uncomfortable he felt.

"Walt, who did this to you?" Carlton waited a few seconds for an answer. "You can identify them, right?"

"Yeah," the blond detective replied nodding slowly, his eyelids starting to slip closed.

"Who? Who did it?" O'Hara asked giving the detective an expectant look.

"S...Spencer..."

_**Psych**_

**GASP! Why would he do that? Tune in next chapter to find out... Jeez, I just sounded like one of those cheesy voice-over guys. What have I become? :P Just kidding.**

**See ya next chapter.**


	11. Chapter 11

**I am so sorry this took forever to update. Been busy with other stuff. Please enjoy, drop a comment, and I'll catch ya in the next chapter... which shouldn't take too long.**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

**PEACE...**

**Psych  
**

_Thud, thud, thud_: his head was pounding in time with _lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub_ of his heart. He felt awful, beyond awful, shitty. No, if shitty and awful got together and had a baby. Shitful...awitty... _Awitty? Horrible. Note to self: work on wording._

Shawn peeled heavy eyelids open, the dimly lit room blurry. He heard muffled voices coming from the hallway. He tried to tune into what they were saying, but any type of moving had a wave of nausea roll through him. So he opted to stay still. Besides, the next word, his father's voice piercing his head, was probably heard around the world.

"WHAT?"

Shawn's door flew open, Henry storming across the floor followed by Juliet and Lassiter. "Henry, that's what he said," Lassiter said trying to keep the retired cop calm.

"And I'm telling you he's a lying son-of-a-bitch," Henry retorted crossing his arms.

"He seemed pretty sure."

"Carlton, he's been shot and stabbed, and who knows what the doctors have him on. Maybe he's confused," Juliet said slowly, a hint of irritation in her voice.

"I don't disagree, but if Steinberg is right..." Carlton trailed off.

Why were they talking about Steinberg. Shawn was pretty sure he was dead. He saw Lindsay kill him. Unless he survived, And it wouldn't be above the giant, blond cockroach to live. _Asshole..._

"Shawn would never do anything like this. I mean, yes, he's done some questionable things in his lifetime, but this..." what did Shawn do? _Come on Dad,_ Shawn thought, _ more info._

"He's right, Carlton."

"Okay," Shawn rasped out trying and failing to sit up. He noticed Juliet jump, Lassiter and his father throwing him disapproving looks. Hey, he was in a hospital. They should be nicer to him. "What are you guys talking about?"

Three uncertain looks were exchanged, a heavy silence filling the room. Shawn's heart sped up. How bad could it be if Lassie wasn't about to rub his face in it?

"Shawn," Juliet started tentatively. "What do you remember?"

"Um..." Shawn closed his eyes, unconsciously resting his right hand's fingertips to the side of his head. "I was knocked out outside the police station after following Steinberg. He was on the phone with someone who I later found out was Lindsay..."

"Lindsay? As in Leikin?" Lassiter asked slowly, Shawn opened his eyes to see a skeptical look on the detective's face.

"Yeah, Lassie. Steinberg helped her out of prison."

"Be careful with that accusation, kid," Henry said cautiously.

"I swear. I woke up tied to a chair..." and he proceeded to tell them everything that had happened to him, in perfect detail, up to the car accident. That was still a bit spotty.

When he finished his story he felt exhausted. Funny, usually the sound of his own voice rejuvenated him. It had to be his head wound.

"That's exactly what happened?" Lassiter looked up from a notebook Shawn hadn't noticed he took out. Yeah, definitely the head wound, he usually noticed everything.

"Yeah, why?" Shawn didn't like being in the dark, ever since he was a little kid. He had to know what was going on, especially if it was about him.

"Shawn, Steinberg's alive. He's been out of surgery for about forty minutes. When we went down to see him, he said..." Juliet trailed off, glancing over at Lassiter.

"What did he say?" they were really starting to freak him out, now.

"Spencer, he claims you shot him."

Shawn was quiet a moment, a dozen or so emotions rolling through him, then he said, "Wow, never been accused of shooting someone before." after all that Steinberg had did to him and the asshole claimed _he, _Shawn Spencer, shot him. Shawn didn't shoot people...well, not on purpose. And that was when he was thirteen, with a BB gun, and Gus forgave him eventually.

"Test my hand for GSR, you won't find any. Besides, why would I shoot a cop. I like this little thing called freedom. And jail and I wouldn't mix. Just like jail and Gus. Or Gus and boats. Or me and those evil, cotton-loving, pineapple haters..."

"Shawn," Henry spoke over him, shutting up the faux-psychic's pointless tirade. "That's what they were going to do before you woke up."

"Okay..." he held out his hands, waiting for them to test him. Before Lassiter could do the test, though, Juliet said, "This is stupid. Shawn didn't do this."

"And if he didn't the test will prove it. And it'll verify his story. Then we can question Steinberg, again."

"Fine." she stepped aside, letting Lassie test Shawn for GSR. It came back negative, he hadn't fired a gun recently.

"We're going to talk to Steinberg," Lassiter said replacing the testing kit back on the tray bolted into the wall. He removed his gloves, throwing them on top of the kit. "See why he lied. Make sure your story isn't..."

"Isn't what? A lie? I swear to you, Lassie, he was working for Lindsay. I wouldn't lie about this." yes, he'd lied about a lot of thing, but most of those were teeny, tiny white lies. This wasn't worth the trouble if it wasn't the truth. He wasn't that reckless... Well, not anymore.

"We'll see, Spencer." and Carlton left leaving the door wide open.

"Thank God you're okay," Juliet whispered kissing his forehead. She then chased after he partner.

"I'll be back," Henry said taking his cell phone from his pocket. "I promised your mom I'd call when you woke up." he left, too, trekking down the hall.

Shawn let his eyes drift closed, his mind wandering. There was no point in Steinberg blaming him, he hadn't asked Lindsay to shoot hi, it was all on him. He had betrayed her and Lindsay did what she did best when betrayed: she tried killing him. Tried being the operative term. Because he wasn't dead, and where was Lindsay now?

A hand covered his mouth startling him. He opened his eyes to a familiar face. A finger to her lips shut him up and she pulled her hand away.

"What are you doing here?" Shawn hissed glancing toward the door, hoping his father would hurry up.

"Let's go," Lindsay whispered. Shawn noticed she was wearing scrubs. "I need your help."

"No," he replied quietly. "You got me shot and crashed the car. And you murder people."

"You either get up or I murder the first person who walks in." the gun she pulled hadn't been in her possession before, making Shawn wonder where she got it. She could use that gun on his father, Lassie, or...his stomach clenched...Jules.

So, Shawn opted to get out of bed, a wave of nausea rolling through him as he moved. He willed his stomach to settle, not wanting to blow chunks everywhere.

"Get in the chair," Lindsay demanded pointing at the wheelchair she had obviously pushed in. He lowered himself into the chair, Leikin maneuvering it toward the doorway.

"Where are we going?" Shawn asked shielding his eyes against the onslaught of bright light in the hallway.

"Steinberg's room. I have some unfinished business to take care of."

"But...but Lassie and Jules..."

"That's where you come in, oh Psychic. You are to get them out of the room, any means necessary." Lindsay was struggling to push him, her wound obviously hadn't been treated. It explained why she opted to wear dark scrubs, to hide any blood that she may shed.

"And if they don't come?

"You better hope they do," she whispered in his ear.

"How do you even know where he is?" Shawn asked pushing his panic aside. He could not think about Lindsay hurting Jules or Lassie.

"I found his chart. He's one floor up. ICU."

"So you plan to open fire in the Intensive Care Unit?"

"On just one patient. And once he's dead, I'll turn myself in. You and Gus can go about your business, and you can be the hero once more... As long as you aren't charged with being an accessory to murder."

The rest of the way to Steinberg's room was in relative silence. Shawn was too busy trying to think of a plan. He had to keep Lindsay from killing Steinberg, no matter how much he deserved it. And he had to make sure she didn't kill Juliet and Lassiter in the process.

They were feet from his door, Shawn still having no plan, the silhouettes of Carlton and Jules clearly seen in the doorway. Shawn did the only thing he could think of. "HEY! Steinberg, Lindsay's coming."

"Bad move, Shawn." Lindsay shoved him aside, sprinting down the hallway. Shawn pushed himself to his feet, almost fell, but managed to stay up as he chased after her. He couldn't see straight, kept running into everything in his way, but stayed on her trail.

He was almost to Steinberg's room when a gunshot rang out...


	12. Chapter 12

**This is the end. Thank you so much for reading and supporting this. You guys were great. But unfortunately this will be my last Psych story for a while. I need to branch out and I think I fried my Psych imagination.**

**But don't fret, I will return sooner or later with new angst for the Psych gang... just not right away.**

**Thanks again...**

**Psych  
**

Everything had happened so fast. Shawn's voice came from the hallway, Steinberg panicked and snatched Juliet's gun before she could react, and Lindsey Leikin appeared in the doorway, carrying a gun of her own. Both Steinberg and Leikin opened fire at the same time, Lassiter pulling Juliet to the ground a split second before the bullets could do any damage.

He scrambled for his gun while Lindsey screamed, "Nobody tries to kill me!"

"You deserved it," Steinberg hollered back, picking himself off the floor from when he fell out of bed. "It was all a part of the plan, you knew the risks when I broke you out of jail." _Crap, Spencer was right._ "I mean, do you honestly think I was going to just let you walk free? A murderer?

"But it doesn't matter, now. I'm going to kill you." Before Steinberg could fire, Lassiter reacting firing his own gun. The bullet pierced the taller detective's chest, sending him to the ground. Carlton pushed himself to his feet, peaking over the bed to look at the downed cop.

He turned to watch Leikin try to run, but Spencer grabbed her before she could get very far. Lassiter stepped forward, taking his cuffs from his pocket, and said, "You have the…"

"Juliet," the slightly panicked voice _nearly_ startled Lassiter. He watched as Spencer raced forward, crouching down next to the bleeding O'Hara.

"Crap," Carlton hissed. He snapped the cuffs around Leikin's wrist, threw her into a chair, and crossed the room to kneel next to his downed partner.

She had been hit in the side, her gray jacket and blue blouse slowly soaking with her blood. Lassiter removed his own jacket, pressing it against her side to help staunch the flow.

"Go get help," he snapped at Spencer, but realized a second later it was pointless. The gunshots had already attracted two doctors. They ran in, followed by a nurse, and set to work.

The next thing Carlton knew, he and Shawn were being questioned about what had happened while Leikin was being carted back to jail. He was quick with the details, more worried about his partner. Spencer was past panicked, more like catatonic. He looked as if he were going to puke at any second.

They were released several minutes later, Henry rushing his son back to his room. Lassiter followed, needing something to do. If he lost Juliet, the best partner he had ever had, he didn't know what he'd do. And he didn't want to think how Spencer would take it.

They ended up only having to wait a couple hours. A doctor stopped by to tell them the bullet had gone through, barely missing anything vital. She had survived, and she was going to be okay. But both Lassiter and Shawn had to be sure, so together they headed toward her room.

**Psych**

Juliet was groggy and her side hurt a bit, but she was glad to be alive. She sat up in bed, watching television, waiting for Shawn and Lassiter to burst in. She had been out of surgery for over an hour, she was surprised they hadn't shown up sooner.

"Detective O'Hara," a voice said. She turned, noticing a nurse standing in the doorway. "You have visitors." Lassiter practically pushed past the poor woman, Shawn followed closely behind him. A disgruntled Henry was steps behind both, obviously wishing his son would have stayed in bed.

"Hey guys," Juliet said flipping the television off.

"How are you?" Shawn and Carlton said together, sharing a quick glance. They tried to step forward at the same time, both glaring when they ran into each other. Then Juliet said, "There's another side."  
It was a long visit. Both just wanted to know that she was okay, but ended when Carlton got a phone call and Shawn's concussion started wearing on him. When they left, Juliet leaned into her pillow, intending to go to sleep, but a doctor walked in.

"You are a very lucky young woman, Detective O'Hara," he said checking her chart. "The bullet could have been fatal."

"Yeah, that's what they tell me," she replied quietly.

"No, not just to you, but to your baby, too."

_Wait what? _"What?" _Baby? What baby?_

"Your baby. Your test came back an hour ago. You're at least two months…" he kept talking, but Juliet didn't take anything in. How could she be…? She and Shawn had always been careful. And what would Shawn say? It was no secret he hated children. He found them sticky and loud. Of course, he could also be sticky and loud. And he was always getting into stuff, just like this kid would. They weren't ready for this. They weren't even married, yet.

Touching her stomach, she couldn't help thinking, _Oh, baby, what are we gonna do?_

**Psych**

**3 days later…**

Lassiter found his brother packing. He needed to talk to him, apologize, but had been too busy to do that. He had to deal with the ramifications of shooting Steinberg, getting off lightly when Leikin and Spencer vouched that Steinberg wasn't all there. Then he had to endure fifteen minutes of Guster complaining about how he always ended up with the raw end of the deal. The bitching hadn't been directed at him, but he still heard it when Shawn and Gus were heading out of the precinct. He then spent every free moment with Juliet until she was released from the hospital. She had been pretty quiet, but it had to be some woman thing so he didn't ask. And then there was the paperwork he had to do that left his hand aching, his eyes itching with tiredness, and his brain threatening to leak out of his ears. It was a wonder at all that he caught Danny.

"So, come to see me off?" Danny asked zipping his bag.

"I'm…" Carlton cleared his throat. He had never been very good at apologies. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Danny headed toward the door, trying to push past his brother.

"No." Lassiter grabbed his arm. "I shouldn't have said any of that. It wasn't fair to you, and I don't want you to think I hate you or anything."

"Really Carlton. Don't worry about it. Besides, maybe I like the honestly for once." Danny pulled his arm free from his brother, continuing toward the door. One hand on the knob, without turning around, he said, "I love you, bro. See you later." And he was gone, leaving Lassiter by himself. It hadn't been the greatest brotherly reunion, but Carlton had a feeling their relationship was never going to get any better. They were from two different worlds, and no amount of sharing and caring was going to fix that.

So, he would let it go. He had to let it go. Danny had made his decisions in life, just like Carlton, and he would have to live with them…

**Psych**

"Come on, Gus. I said we wouldn't work cases for the rest of the week, but aren't you a little curious…"

"Nobody called, Shawn. Let's go," Gus snapped, arms crossed, sitting behind the wheel of the blueberry.

"But what about…?"

"No Shawn."

"And if someone needs…"

"They can wait until Monday."

Gus wasn't happy with Psych right now. The place had gotten him framed for murder. If Shawn hadn't of started the business, put Lindsey Leikin in jail, then none of this wouldn't have happened. He would have blamed Shawn personally, but his best friend had been too _nice_ to blame. He even gave Gus the whole week to do whatever he wanted. Gus spent half of it getting caught up with his route, and the other half hanging with Shawn. Until his best friend wanted to check the messages at Psych.

"Can we please go?"

Shawn sighed, "Fine, fine. Go." Gus started his car, backing out of his spot. They drove a few blocks when Shawn's phone rang.

"You've reached the most delectable piece of eye candy…" he trailed off, Gus' eyebrows rising. Never had Shawn let an opportunity to flirt with Jules (he could only assume it was her) pass. Something had to be up. "Are you sure?" again the faux-psychic was quiet. "Scared I would what? Leave you? I'm not leaving you…" he listened, nodding. "Jules, I can always get another pineapple mug. It's okay that you broke mine. Yeah, don't worry about it. Okay? Love you. Bye." He hung up, shaking his head. "She's been acting strange since she got home."

"Shawn, she was shot. Wouldn't _you_ be acting strange?" Gus asked driving past a Jamaican restaurant.

"Yeah, but I mean really strange. I just don't know why…" Shawn trailed off, biting his lower lip. He then sighed and said, "Oh well. You wanna go back for Jerk Chicken?"

"You know that's right." Gus turned down a street that would take him back to the restaurant. He was happy to be free, happy to be with his best friend, and knew he'd get over his issues with Psych. He always did…

**The End…**


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